Plain in the city

A plain Quaker folk singer with a Juris Doctorate in his back pocket, salt in his blood, and a set of currach oars in the closet, Ulleann Pipes under his arm, guitar on his back, Anglo Irish baggage, wandering through New York City ... in constant amaze. Statement of Faithfulness. As a member of the Quaker Bloggers Ad Hoc Committee I affirm that I will be faithful to the Book of Discipline of my Meeting 15th Street Monthly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Pruning ('til it HURTS!) : )

I have a fruit tree which feeds me. It gives me all that I need to the point that in sustaining me, it is me, it is all I have and need. I eat of this tree and I share some with others, and I admire the trees of others.

A little while ago the gardener came to me and shook his head... "Lazy fellow... look at the weeds around thy tree's roots."

Joyfully I dug up the weeds and burned them and enjoyed the warmth. I turned to reach for another piece of fruit and the gardener shook his head and pointed to the pruning hook, the saw, and the knife. "Later" I said and threw myself at the base of the tree with a piece of fruit and my flute.

A good size branch fell on my head.

"Bastard!" I yelled at the gardener. "Why did thee not keep thy garden better! Why did thee drop that branch on my head!"

The gardener looked at me, silent and amused. Muttering I took up the tools and cut more rotted wood away. "There!" I said, ready to drop the tools.

"There... " he said gently pointing at more rot. I cut and cut and he pointed. I muttered and complained and he pointed. I thought myself done and he pointed. At last I cried out, "Gardener! How will I know if I cut away too much."

"Thee will know... keep at thy work." I cut and the sap and my blood ran together. The gardener nodded and I stopped cutting.

I picked up a piece of fruit and he pointed aloft. "Does thee not remember that lightening that hit that branch many years ago" he asked me? I began to rise, tears in my eyes, and yet resigned. He put his hand to my chest and eased me down to the grass again and handed me my flute.

"Thy tree grows slowly, and thee needs strength to help it grow right. As thee learns to prune, and tend thy tree, thee must also learn patience and also learn pleasure... play me a joyous tune and we will eat together."

Thank the QuaCarol for being one of the voices saying... calm.

2 Comments:

At 4:54 AM, Blogger postliberal said...

What a fantastic story, well told there. I suspect it speaks to me more even strongly cos I spent three days, a few weeks ago, pruning a whole load of apple trees in someone's small orchard.

I shaln't bore you all with the ins and outs - even to extend any metaphor. But o0ccasionally I was very brutal, but quite selective. To ensure a more productive life it was quite necessary, to promote renewal.

 
At 8:01 AM, Blogger Lorcan said...

Thank'ee friend.
lor

 

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